


take me as i am

by nadia5803



Series: liaisons by nadia [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: The Gang’s All Here - Freeform, fun slavic family, hope laszlo doesn’t fucking die!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadia5803/pseuds/nadia5803
Summary: politics is a game of catch and release. it’s especially true when you’re landlocked by enemies on all ends.
Series: liaisons by nadia [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631752
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Fedya likes to stare, and Laszlo has learned that. No, he doesn’t do it intentionally— at least, Laszlo doesn’t think so— but he can’t help feel the slightest twinge of unease whenever he sees Fedya’s eyes on him.

It’s not like Laszlo ever speaks in a manner that would be worthy of staring. He thinks of himself as one of the more innocuous members of the 52. If not innocuous, unknown. Most of these people couldn’t even pronounce Skopje for the life of them. That’s what’s so weird about Fedya’s staring. The why. Why Laszlo? Well, there are plenty of reasons why, and that’s the issue. Whatever Fedya’s reasons may be, it’s uncomfortable. Laszlo often stole glances at his neighbors, offering encouraging smiles or dramatic expressions, but Fedya just stared. Sometimes his focus wavered when Ben put an unwelcoming hand on Fedya’s shoulder or when Gustava slyly mentioned the resurgence of Eastern populism, but those eyes always strayed back to Laszlo. 

“Fedya’s certainly an eccentric,” Komnena said, wiping off lipstick with a tissue. “But you should confront him if you are uncomfortable with his staring.”

“It’s— It’s almost funny. Like, I’m just sitting there, and he’s watching me like a fascinated little toddler. I’m not that fascinating. I’m plain,” Laszlo insisted. 

“Plain?” she turned, head tilted. “I wouldn’t say plain. I know you’re not one to be the center of attention, but you’re a bit of a nonconformist.”

“I’m a nonconformist? He dresses like a housewife, and I’m the nonconformist,” Laszlo scoffed, dawdling forward and glancing into Komnena’s smudged-up hand mirror. She snapped it shut and turned to look at him, indignant and silent. Laszlo scrunched his nose then turned his head. “I’m surprised he hasn’t sliced off all that unconditioned hair yet.”

“See, he’s probably staring at you because you’re very cruel,” she huffed, leaning backwards in her seat as Laszlo bobbed in his seat.

“I am not _cruel_ , I’m honest.”

“To him, honesty may be perceived as cruelty.”

Laszlo placed his thumb on his lips and exhaled. “And it’s a duck-eat-duck world. He better get used to it.”

“Oh, Laszlo. I lied. If you’re going to be mean to him when confronting him, you best not confront him at all.”

“Seed’s been planted, Ommie. If I verbally terrorize him hard enough, he’s bound to stop.”

Komnena drummed her fingers on the table and exhaled. “Fine, you verbally terrorize him, and see how that goes. I’m sure it’ll go as smashingly as everything else your wide political agenda has accomplished. How’s Stamen been?”

Laszlo coughed. Komnena leaned on her hand, smilingly. “Not a very nice feeling to he verbally terrorized, is it?”

Laszlo was red, and he scoffed. “You’re killing me.”

“I know you and Fedya aren’t the most compatable of politicians, but try to be a little cordial.”

“I’m very cordial,” Laszlo said, voice pitched with sarcastic offense. “See, when Ben’s around, I drink my coffee with my pinkie up. I’m assimilating with the cultured folks.”

“This is the issue.” She placed her hand on his and leaned forward. “You’re a diplomat. I know you are. I would still think you’re a twat if you weren’t. Please be diplomatic, and don’t be unadulturatedly rude. He’s not your enemy. You’re more similar than you think.”

Laszlo pulled his hand back and huffed. “Easy for you to say. At least Albania has a right to exist in his eyes.” 

“Not saying you have to make peace with him. Just, you know, confront him, but don’t be rude about it! You have the capacity to be polite, utilize it.”

Laszlo cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a very rude person.”

“You are not.”

“I’m extremely cruel and rude and Ben wants me dead.”

“Laszlo.” 

“I’m gonna go reinstate communism now. Kidding, kidding.” Laszlo rapped on his wheels and started out the door. “Look, I won’t be needlessly cruel. I wouldn’t even call myself needlessly cruel, despite the fact that I’m totally evil. I’m just not very willing to negotiate with an enemy.”

“He’s not your enemy.” Komnena followed, pushing open the office door for him. “He seems misled. Like I said, you have more things in common than you might believe.”

“If you told him that, he’d start crying.”

“Oh, please.” Komnena studied her painted nails, before tilting her head back up to face Laszlo. “I love you, don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m a smart boy,” he replied with a wink. “Bye-bye. Don’t forget the Agriculture bill you were looking at.”

Komnena snapped her fingers against her head and grinned. “Thanks for the reminder. Don’t be dumb!” she called out before the door shut behind her. Laszlo nodded at one of the guards in the hall, who didn’t acknowledge him, and then began his quest. 

It wasn’t one of those busy weekends in Schengen. The summits did get repetitive, but a mixed cast would spice things up on occassion. Fedya would be easy to seek out, unless...

“Hey, you!” Laszlo turned around, beckoning the guard over. The guard shuffled back, masked by a pair of dark sunglasses and a visible Dutch accent.

“Mr. President?”

“Call me Laszlo, dear. Have you seen Mr. Vranchev?”

The Dutch guard pushed up his sunglasses. “His office.”

“Where may that be?” Laszlo asked, batting his eyelashes. 

“Two hallways down, on your left. 147.”

Laszlo tapped his temples, offering one of his cordial smiles. “Thank you, sir. Now, have a lovely evening.”

“You too, sir.”

Two hallways down, on the left. Laszlo hummed, glancing at his watch as he passed by one of the breezeways. Afternoon sunlight poured through the complex, and it was an appropriate 3’o’clock. Stifling a yawn, Laszlo continued, tugging on his sleeve. 

As he reached the door, it took him a brief moment to work up the courage to knock. Laszlo wouldn’t call himself nonconfrontational or anxious, but his heart was racing more than he would have liked as his hand hovered over the door. He didn’t have to worry too much about it, though, because the door swung open to reveal Vasiliki Stathoulis. Behind her, Fedya sat on his chair, gazing over her shoulder. 

Laszlo’s anxiety then increased tenfold as she stared down at him disapprovingly, eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“I need to speak with Mr. Vranchev,” Laszlo replied, expertly shielding the wavering of his voice as she glared at him. 

“About what?” 

“Nothing to do with you, or anybody, it’s between me and him.”

The tense small talk was interrupted when Fedya appeared in the doorway, his expression going unreadable when he saw Laszlo. “Mr. Mincef,” he said, hands on his hips. “What do you want?”

With both of his worst rivals peering down at him, unfriendly looks on their faces, Laszlo wanted to beeline it back to Komnena’s room. Now, though, he was cornered. Caught by two predators in an ambush he instigated. Fantastic. Now to play catch and release. “I’d like to speak with you.”

“With me?” Fedya asked.

Laszlo nodded, swallowing the nervous lump that had formed in his throat.

“... Why don’t you come in?” Fedya continued, resting his arm on the threshhold. 

“I’d rather this conversation be between us,” Laszlo said, avoiding eye contact with Vasiliki.

“I insist you come in,” Fedya answered, his gaze going icy. Vasiliki reentered smugly, and, with his hands tied, Laszlo followed. The door shut behind him, and Fedya strided back to his seat.

“Don’t be so scared. We don’t bite,” Vasiliki said, legs crossed on the bedside.

Laszlo emerged from the darkness of the front hallway and squinted as he entered the main organ of Fedya’s room, pungent with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. His desk was decorated with piles of spiral notebooks and loose papers, a mess of unorginization and discord. Forcing a smile, Laszlo leaned forward, hands folded. “How are you both doing?”

“I’m fine,” Fedya said. 

“Fine as well. And you, Laszlo?” Vasiliki continued, hands behind her back.

“I am well. How is everything going in Athens?”

“Smashingly. Skopje? I heard it hasn’t been going very well for you. Quite unfortunate to be in such a compromised position.”

Laszlo sneered and leaned forward. “I’d really like to speak to Mr. Vranchev _alone_. This doesn’t regard you.” 

Vasiliki sighed, rising to her feet and shoving past Laszlo to the door. “Very well. Let’s arrange a meeting for ourselves later, Laszlo, it’s been a while.”

“Certainly.”

When the door slammed forcibly shut, Laszlo focused back on Fedya, his sharp features still unreadable but unfriendly. His hair was untied, bouncing over his shoulders as he stared at Laszlo. Staring, staring, fucking staring.

“That’s it,” Laszlo snapped, covering his face with his hand.

“What?” Fedya asked, his face going an event of red. “Now, what have I done to upset you?”

“All you do is stare. You stare at me like you’ve never seen a disabled person in your life or like you want to murder me. I see you doing it, you know. All you fuckin’ wanna do is stare at me. It’s really quite impolite. You’re not slick.”

Fedya went red with embarassment, and when Laszlo peeked through his fingers, he was noticeably gazing at the ceiling, silent.

“You gonna say something, or keep staring at the ceiling?”

“You... you... you are fascinating,” Fedya said, his voice a fleeting gasp of air. He tilted his head back down, those foxlike eyes meeting Laszlo’s. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the most fascinating being in there. You fascinate me more than Vasiliki and Arpad, although they are certainly very fascinating. You just have this aura about you, this sense, this energy, that... compels me.”

Laszlo found himself staring, slack-jawed and eyebrows furrowed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Fedya folded his hands, leaning forward and then jabbing a finger out at him. “You, you, you. You think you’re such a cynic, such a nihilist. You just act like a dunce in front of all of them. You love to do that, I know, I see it. I know it’s a facade, Laszlo. You’re smart. But you safeguard that, you refuse to let yourself acknowledge your own wisdom. I see you. I see the real you. Let your guard down. If you were to do so, I would say that you would be faring much better with those snakes.” Fedya’s voice went into a snarl as he stood up, hands behind his back. Laszlo watched incredulously, silent as Fedya started to pace. “We don’t really talk, now, do we? It’s— It’s kind of funny. Ha-ha, funny. The most we talk is when you’re up there, debating me. And you’re a good debater, but you hold back. Everyone thinks that you just attack people’s qualities, but I see it goes beyond that. You are fascinating. I feel like I know you like the back of my hand, more than anybody else here. And we barely talk.”

Laszlo was completely stunned into silence, his index finger habitually rapping against the siding of his wheelchair. Fedya watched, his gaze menacing, his smile and features soft. “Have I scared you? I don’t mean to scare you.”

“You— you don’t know a thing about me,” Laszlo said, clenching his hands into fists.

“Please. I know everything about you.”

“Did Arpad tell you all about me? All his dirt on me? Let me tell you, Mr. Vranchev, he’s all hot air.”

“He didn’t tell me anything. Honestly, he didn’t. Do you remember, Laszlo, that I called you after we were both elected? We talked briefly, casually. It’s been all political since then, but I remember what you said. You said it was an underdog victory for both of us. An upset. Europe wasn’t ready. They still aren’t. You know why? Because they are afraid of people like us. They are afraid of politicians like you and me.”

Laszlo choked back nervous laughter, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “You and I, we’re not the same. Don’t refer to us as the same. You, you, your fucking people want to wipe my country off the map. You’re the reason why I can’t get anything. You and Vasiliki. We’re not the same, and you don’t know shit about me,” Laszlo spat. “And I just want you to stop with the goddamn staring.”

“Fine. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. I can do that. But you’re wrong. I feel such a connection with you.”

“Then why haven’t you pursued it?”

Fedya shrugged, head cocked, eyes wide like a fox. “I’m waiting for you to lose the facade.”

“There’s no facade here,” Laszlo snapped back. “This is me.”

“I don’t believe so. Really, Laszlo, you best learn to shed your skin. It’ll help you in the future. You want power? Money? Recognition? It’s my fault you’ve been deprived of the things you believe you deserve, you cry, but you don’t even show your true self to the people who control our lives. You’re an actor. Try a little integrity, maybe you’ll finally get what you deserve.”

Laszlo scoffed. “All you think I deserve is for my autonomy to be stolen away. You’re an accelerationist waiting for my borders to collapse so you can just dive in and take what you think is yours. It’s not yours, it will never be yours. It’s nobody but mine’s. Not Ben’s, Not Gustava’s, not Vasiliki’s, mine. And I’ll govern however the fuck I want. Stop staring at me like a fucking idiot and then we can talk.”

Fedya stared at him, eyes narrowed. He put his hands behind his back, and began to pace again. “Laszlo, what is my name?”

“Your name is Fedya Vranchev.”

“What is my full name?”

“Fiodor. Fiodor Antonov Vranchev.”

“And you are Lupcho Jan Mincefski,” Fedya replied.

“That’s true. That’s me.”

Fedya leaned forward, eyes fixed on Laszlo. “Why do you hide yourself? You shorten your surname, you adopt a different first name. What are you afraid of?”

_He wants you to squirm. Don’t do it._

“It was the name I took in university.”

“Very well. I’m not convinced, but, very well,” Fedya replied, returning to his circular pace.

Laszlo touched his forehead, baffled as he watched Fedya circle. “You say that I wear a facade. All you do is go on tirades and call yourself a populist. All this has told me is that you’re a bigger actor than I could ever be.”

“Politics is an act. It depends on how we fulfill our roles. I’ve fulfilled mine appropriately. So has everyone else, mostly. Few exceptions. You’re one of those exceptions. Perhaps the most fascinating one.”

Laszlo buried his face in his hands, going silent. “I’m not an animal for you to gawk at. I expect you to treat me like a person.”

“Have I not treated you like a person?”

“More like a philosopher.”

“Implying that philosophers aren’t people?”

“Neither are politicians, according to you.” 

Fedya shrugged his shoulders, and smirked, revealing two rows of white teeth. Laszlo realized he had never seen Fedya grin, and suddenly felt a bit hazy. “You’re a funny man, Laszlo. A fascinating piece of work. I respect you and your wishes. I won’t stare at you anymore, promise.”

“Thank you, Fiodor.”

“It’s Fedya,” he snarled, stepping forward. “Don’t call me that.”

Laszlo raised his hands in sudden defensiveness. “Sorry. I’m sorry. We can talk. Okay? We can talk another time. I want to talk to you.”

“I can help you reveal yourself. You don’t need to hide anymore.”

When he looked at Fedya’s face, those high cheekbones and rigid nose, the habitual smirk and predatory eyes, Laszlo was staring back at Arpad. Arpad’s small face and round cheeks couldn’t be further away from Fedya’s foxlike features, but all he saw were those raptorial dark eyes. Laszlo suddenly felt small, a rabbit being cornered by a carnivore in its burrow. He held out a shaky hand, and waved Fedya away. “Another time, Fedya. Another time. I will see you again tomorrow.”

Fedya backed away, his expression softening. “I hope you have a good afternoon, Laszlo.”

As soon as Laszlo was out of the woods, he instantly relaxed despite the blinding light of the sun hitting him as he exited. His face felt hot, and when he looked down at his hands, he realized they were shaking.

Dumbfounded, he stared at the door. Silence, opaque wood, and nothing but confusion and the slightest twinge of fear.

The corridors were empty. Laszlo started back to his own office, a quick jaunt past Komnena’s room. The guard was gone. He thought to return to Komnena, and his hand hovered over the door once again, but he continued on. As he got to his office, familiarly tucked in a distant corner, Laszlo suddenly lurched forward and touched his nose when the taste of metal filled his mouth.

A streak of red blood was smeared across his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately for Laszlo, he had confronted the Beast, and the staring would hopefully cease in time. 

Unfortunately, there was still a week left in limbo. Thank goodness his darling Cabinet was guarding the country while Laszlo was away. He doesn’t know what he’d do without them. 1,164 miles of land separated Schengen and Skopje, and despite the forced familiarity of the former onto him, Laszlo longed for home. At the very least, he had his friends — allies — to keep him company, and he’d be back in Skopje in a week’s time. 

It was Tuesday, and Laszlo had not slept at all. In complete fairness, he’s a man with a relative sleep schedule. It just happened that Monday night entailed him fidgeting away with his phone and mistakenly slicing his fingertips as he read books and papers, the air of distraction and anxiety hanging over him. Though he had turned his light out at one point, and he had grown too unbothered to care about his phone’s battery slipping into the red, he spent the early hours of Tuesday wide-eyed and gazing at the ceiling. When the orange sun broke through the curtains, he catapulted himself out of bed, sleepless and high on half-restored morale. Besides the fact that it was just about 7’o’clock and nobody in their right mind would be awake, there did happen to be someone Laszlo knew for a fact would be up and about. 

And he would be correct, when he spotted her silhouette facing out one of the windows, teacup in hand as the overhead fan whirred. 

“Um, Svetlana, good morning.”

Dressed in her sweater and a pair of old sweatpants, poor Svetlana almost spilled her entire cup of tea when she heard Laszlo’s voice. “Christ! Jesus, you scared the shit out of me, uh...?”

Unable to make out the reflection in the window, Svetlana turned, seeing Laszlo following the dress code of apartment casual. Going slack and softening without hesitation, she regained her poise and posture and joined him in the hall. “You’re awake rather early, my brother.” In succession, she then noticed the key signs of sleeplessness, which Laszlo had attempted to curb with a dainty smile and day-old coffee. “Would you like to sit somewhere? Somewhere with caffeine? Fruit, even?”

Laszlo shrugged, then nodded. “Certainly.”

Luck struck again in the form of the elevator being only a quick jaunt from the breezeway. Tucked away in an upper corner of the building was a less-populated and a more miniature version of the cafeteria, equipped with a coffee maker, a tea kettle, a mini-fridge, and three round tables with nine folding chairs shared among them. Some sage had set the coffee the evening before, and the pair was welcomed with the comforting sound of the coffee dripping down into itself, strong and delightful. Svetlana prepared two cups of coffee as Laszlo fished out some grapes from the communal fridge. When she set the cups on the table, Laszlo pleasantly remembered a fact that often stuck in his head when discussing Svetlana; the two of them were both coffee drinkers, and they both liked their coffee strictly black. As a result, two black coffees sat across from each other, steaming and filling the air with that signature acidity.

Another thing they shared between them

was the conversations of silence. Svetlana twirled her hair and waited for the rising steam to slow and disappear, while Laszlo collared the cup with his hands and welcomed the heat that filled his palms. After untold minutes of silence, and the panicked entrances and exits of a few other presidents upon seeing their deadpan and menacing looks, Laszlo finally spoke. “How is it?”

Svetlana shrugged one shoulder, lifting up her now half-empty cup. “The coffee, or in general?”

“In general.”

“It is fine, my brother. And you?”

“Fine as well.”

...

“I apologize, Svetlana, I’m surprised Jelka didn’t attend this week,” Laszlo threw out, waving a dismissive hand.

Quick to divert the subject, Svetlana beamed back, “She’s a busy woman. Now, now. How are Stamen and the rest?”

Laszlo huffed, shifting in his seat and gripping onto his cup. “Mr. Mladenov is well. Your cabinet, how are they?”

“I’m in search of a new financier.”

“You‘ll find one soon enough.” Then, Laszlo pushed aside his cup and surveyed the hallways conjoined with the cafeteria. “Tell me. What is your opinion on Fedya?”

“Mr. Vranchev? Fedya Vranchev, hm? Hm,” Svetlana blinked, the morning exhaustion detaching itself from her as she sipped the last of her coffee. “Why, having trouble developing your foreign policy? By this point, you should have sorted out your own feelings about Bulgaria, my brother.” When Laszlo responded with another unamused look, gaze dark with exhaustion and anxiety, Svetlana relented. “Well, well, well, he’s an eccentric, that one. I don’t agree with him on much of anything. Quite a maniac, no? Like Khrushchev with his shoe when he talks. Bang, bang, bang on the podium. He’s all talk, no substance. Brother, you should be more concerned with Kostova and Stathoulis. Fedya is not powerful. A figurehead. An inexperienced boy who has gone mad with all the power he thinks he has.”

Laszlo rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the first signs of a bitter headache away. “No prisoners.”

“I don’t have tolerance for little men who think they have influence where they don’t.” Svetlana walked over to the rack besides the sink, placing the cup over it and leaning against the counter. “It’s different for you, though, it has to be. I’m not as small... or powerless... Sorry, Laz.”

Mouth creased, he responded with an indifferent shrug. “No, you’re fine.” He joined her besides the sink, running his cup beneath the water before placing it besides hers. “I— I just had the strangest interaction with him yesterday. Does, um, does he ever stare at you?”

“ _ Stare _ at me? No. I don’t think so. I try to direct as little attention to him as possible, because he’s a leech who thrives off it.”

Laszlo snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. His speeches, his proposals, policies, attention. Man, I didn’t connect that before.”

“Please, my brother, all of us live off attention. It’s a political thing, no? Our darling Fedya is just more of a purposeful leech than others. He’s a real bloodsucker, that one.”

Laszlo repeated the scene of Fedya’s incensed raving from the previous afternoon, his pointed gestures and wild eyes. “Probably a vampire,” Laszlo commented.

Svetlana tugged on the string of her sweatpants. “A vampire for certain. I’ll see you in an hour, Laz.”

At her footsteps disappearing down the hallway, Laszlo then realized he had even forgotten to take off his watch the night before. At 8:30, the day would begin. The suit was on, mouth shut, eyes focused on anything but the speaker and anything but Fedya. 45 minutes. Laszlo swerved back into the hall and hurried to his office.

***

Laszlo, unlike Fedya, was more of a rotating fan. He liked to glean everybody’s perspective as the theatrics unfolded. Sometimes, the reactions would be more entertaining than the material compounded. He especially liked to peek over at his friends, flashing overactive expressions of despair. As one of the more introverted fellows, this hobby brought him the fun he seldom received. Even more excitingly, the two bookends of North Macedonia were noticeably absent this week. Ben went through the painstaking efforts of organizing every table, desk, office and file by name of country, Netherlands, North Macedonia, Norway, etc., etc. Those two, Milan and Oliver, had made a pointed lack of an appearance, and Laszlo was free to take up as much room as he wanted. Seeing as Gustava’s train was unaccounted for this week, everything was thinned up, allowing Ben to fill in those cracks.

But while the absence of Fedya’s staring was strikingly noticeable, Laszlo couldn’t shake his feeling of unease. As he forced his heavy eyelids up to try and wean the feelings of exhaustion off, he slipped in and out of distraction. Rather than Fedya’s staring, he instead noticed the worried gazes of Komnena, Florijan, and now Svetlana as he nodded in and out of half-sleep. Well, with Ben talking, who wouldn’t want to sleep? And he must have noticed, too, since...

“Mr. Mincef?”

Silence.

Again, “Oh, Mr. Mincef?”

Silence. 

“Mr. Mincef.” Then, from Komnena, “Laszlo.”

Her informing gaze jolted him back into the present, and he noticed Ben’s hand resting next to the Norway plate, and his palpable frustration. “Mr. Mincef, if you find this to be a waste of your time, you are free to leave back to Skopje.” 

Skoop-jay. Great. Touching his eyes and turning back to Ben, Laszlo creased his eyes and smiled. “ _ Skop _ , rhyming with  _ hope _ , and a soft  _ je _ , like,  _ yay _ .  _ Skopje _ . If you want to mispronounce my capital city, I can certainly leave on my own terms.”

The room went dead silent, besides a nonreactive grumble from Ben. “ _ Skopje _ , alright. I understand. Is there anything you would like to add to the conversation, Mr. Mincef, at the moment?”

“I’m quite alright. If you don’t mind, I would like to get some air.”

Ben gestured to the courtyard door and Laszlo made a beeline out into the sunlight, the sky shining blue and cloudless overhead. Guards stood poised around the perimeter of the courtyard, and none of them seemed to even realize Laszlo’s unusual exit. He squinted up at the sun, smiling back down with unrelenting light, and he was devoured again by homesickness. As he sat on the pavement for a moment, hands folded and deep in thought, the door creaked open and Fedya stepped out.

“Did you see that? Did you see what you did back there? That was you. The real you. That’s the one you’ve been hiding away in exchange for silence. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Laszlo chuckled, rubbing his mouth and whirling to face Fedya. “No, that wasn’t wonderful. I’m going to get crucified by him. I’m the one who doesn’t speak, and the one time I do, it’s to confront him. That’s not wonderful at all. There’s nothing wonderful about it.”

“Laszlo, no. See, you’ve already taken my advice. You must confront him, and put him in his place, because otherwise him and all his friends will target you and use vulnerability to their advantage. Don’t you see? You don’t have to sit back anymore. Aren’t you jealous of them? Komnena, Vasiliki, Svetlana, Jelka, even Florijan? They never let you get a word in. All they do is bicker and bicker and that allows Ben to slip through the back door. Do you want that? I know you don’t. That’s why you need to lose your facade,” Fedya insisted, outstretching a hand that beckoned Laszlo back to the door.

Laszlo shrunk back. “No, you don’t get to say that. You’re not one of us. Stop. Just stop. And-and— thank you for not staring, but I’d rather you just--” Laszlo scrambled for the right words, touching his head again as Fedya responded with his composed smile and soft gaze.

“It’s quite alright. You may think that, Laszlo, but I’m more like you than you know. You’re more like me than you know. That’s why I want you to see what you can be and not what you want to be. When have you ever lived to please the wishes of Ben?”

“Never, I have  _ never _ . Silence is not equivalent to ignorance.” Laszlo gripped the ends of his wheels, creasing his lips as he averted his eyes from Fedya. “I’m busy enough at home. I don’t need them on my back. Get away from me.”

“Fine. Take your time. The conversation will resume with or without you in there,” Fedya pointedly declared, slinking back towards the door and letting it slam behind him.

It betrayed him to think it. To feel it, even. But Fedya was correct. Goodness, he knew. All the ins and outs of Laszlo’s psyche seemed to be mirrored in his mind, and yet...

Fedya Vranchev is a populist. He’s a populist with a frightening vendetta against his fiendish Macedonian neighbor. Laszlo has seen the lengths of that vendetta. He has seen Fedya talk in speech after speech littered with microaggression and harmful rhetoric, and in Vasiliki’s magnetism towards him. She didn’t even agree with him on most of his policies, but it was like their collective hatred for their little neighbor bonded them, and that was  _ scary _ . The last thing Laszlo wanted was to listen to Fedya. The last thing he would ever want was for such a person to see right through him.

Nonetheless, Laszlo was known to be rather quiet, menacing, deadpan, someone who kept among his peers. He wasn’t talkative, besides with his former Yugoslavian neighbors (and two certain Albanians) and kept to himself. He only spoke when necessary, and he spoke with a fake voice he had manufactured from months and months of listening to Ben and Gustava talk over and over and over again. Yet, he was at every meeting, every summit, always lingering in the background. When his cabinet rejected him, he was always abroad. When his fellows and peers harbored a sentiment against him or spoke over him, he returned back to his birthplace.

Laszlo, despite all the evidence against it, despite the pointed descriptions of his inability to pass legislation and uselessness of him as a leader, had something to say. He was opinionated, self-aware, observant. He was also certain nobody in that room besides the few even knew that Laszlo used to be an economist, and nobody would ever bother to ask about how he felt about the careening economic state. He was a lingering presence without a voice, a mute member of the choir. Those few who often saw him and harmonized with him were just as sparing with their words, drowned out by the rallying cry of those above.

Komnena had always seen him from the moment they were elected in close tandem with one another, but it would always seem she would prefer to take the passive route as well. Her hands were full with domestic issues rather than the trappings of the West. Even Florijan, Europe’s dearly beloved sock puppet and sole resident of his cousin’s shadow, was not one to be outspoken. Svetlana and Jelka carried— but on opposite, polar ends, never finding something to agree upon, never arguing for unity of the region. And the list went on, and on, and on. It was discordant, quite literally  _ Balkanized _ , as Ben and Gustava slipped in with scissors behind their backs.

Fedya’s words made sense. They made sense, but it missed the target he was aimimg for. Laszlo turned to peek back into the conference room through that glass door, spotting Fedya’s slim figure, his hair pulled back and his attention turned to Ben. 

How can you wear a facade when there was nothing to be hidden in the first place?

***

The rest of the day was uneventful, with respective visits of sympathy from Komnena and Florijan to Laszlo’s office, where he sat in the corner of his room bundled in a sweatshirt and gloomy with stress. A candle burned on his desk, dimming as the puddle of wax within it rose to the wick. As Laszlo lay in bed, the curtains drawn and the day descending into twilight, there was a knock at his door. 

Against his better judgement, he swung his limp legs over the bed and turned to face the door. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and in stepped Vasiliki. Her face was unrecognizable in the dim light of the room, but Laszlo recognized her voice anywhere. “Evening, Laszlo. I was hoping I could follow up on yesterday with a little chat. I understand you may not be your best self today, but I would appreciate your time.”

Laszlo gestured to the desk chair he had moved to the corner of the room, and Vasiliki took a seat, legs crossed, eyes fixed on him. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I need you to listen to me. As much as it may seem like I am out to get you, I promise I’m not always operated by ulterior motives. I do respect you as a person. I respect your sovereignty.”

“Really? Never really feels like it.”

“Feelings seldom show the whole picture.”

“But they may betray depth underneath.”

Vasiliki put her hands on her knees, and leaned in. “Don’t trust him.”

“Trust who?”

“Fedya.”

Laszlo scoffed. “I am not even considering doing so. Besides, it’s you I have to be worried about. Building up your reputation with Ben and Tav, a backdoor to the Balkans, compromising your economic recovery for the sake of power... worries me more than whatever tirade Fedya goes on next.”

Her expression darkened. “You know nothing about me, really, and you know nothing about the root of my policy. You’re an economist, certainly an activist, certainly on-track to becoming quite the prominent global diplomat. But you know nothing about me, and you know nothing about him. Him and his motives.” Shifting her position to the edge of the chair, Vasiliki’s features became visible in the fading candlelight. “I say this not as a rival or as an opponent to you, but as a person, as a woman older than yourself. Be wary. I have been down your path. You can laugh and scoff and roll your eyes but I encourage you to regard me with more respect. You’re young. I understand. Be careful.” She slipped into Laszlo’s native tongue as she rose to her feet, and his face flushed. “You hear me? Be careful, son. Have a good night.”

As the door shut behind her, the hotness left Laszlo’s cheeks and he was once again left sitting slack-jawed and mystified. He rolled onto the other side of the bed, drawing the curtains open and squinting out at the gray twilight. In the distance, the city lights flickered, and just below, guards lined the building’s perimeter.


	3. Chapter 3

“Nikolai Papallis...”

“What about him?”

Despite only meeting one previous time, it seemed the morning meetings between the landlocked Slavic siblings became part of both of their daily regimens. Svetlana joined Laszlo in the small cafeteria, coffee draining into the pot.

Laszlo leaned forward, drumming his hands on the table. “You were actually in office the same time as he was. I wasn’t. I’m sure Bozinovski would have a mouthful to say about him, but Bozinovski’s— chhk,” he drew his finger over his throat and peered back at Svetlana with curious eyes and a severe pout, an uncommon sign of emotion from famously deadpan Laszlo. “Not asking you to build foreign policy for me, just... curious.”

Svetlana relaxed as she put her legs up on the table, reclined in her seat with a lazy grin. “Haven’t had anybody asking me about Nick in forever. I think everyone was rather content forgetting he existed at all. Especially Vasiliki. It’s her country now.”

“I know some things. Economic policy, controversial beliefs, very outspoken. Kind of like you.”

“Kind of like a _lesser_ version of me. I’m the strongest of the movers and shakers. There’s a reason Nick is dead and I’m not.”

Laszlo flattened his hands on the table. “Tell me more.”

“The poor boy didn’t know what he was involving himself in. He was weak. Great politician, terrible president. Ruled for less than his term even elicited. Widespread economic downturn, angry citizens, the desecration of meticulously constructed foreign relations. So, Nick Papallis... you don’t need to know anything about him besides what you’ve figured out already. He’s no hero worth remembering,” Svetlana kicked her legs back down, pulling her ragged hair back into its bun. She glanced out into the hallway, lips pursed and eyes faraway.

Laszlo relented, whining like a child pleading for an extra toy at the store. “But—”

“Some things are better left not looked into, forgotten by history.”

“Okay, okay, erm, what about Fedya? Nikolai and Fedya? Did they, like, know each other?”

“What are you getting at?” Svetlana snapped her gaze back to his, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing. And, just to clarify, Vasiliki was also a member of Nikolai’s cabinet, right?” Laszlo said innocently, hands clasped in mock prayer.

“Right.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. Foreign minister, no?” He began to smile, soft and pleased with his interrogation’s progress.

“You’d be correct. Laszlo, where’s this all coming from?”

“How did Nikolai Papallis die?”

“He hanged himself.” 

...

“But you knew that already.”

...

“We are not playing twenty questions any longer, young man. Answer me, Laszlo, is there something going on with your position? If so, I’d be very willing to help on a professional scale. Little cafeteria gossip sessions won’t cut it if you’re approaching such a difficult topic,” Svetlana declared, the sugar in her voice draining away as her eyes went icy. With her fingers curled and stature straightened, she shifted her gaze back onto Laszlo.

Laszlo wiped his nose and sniffed, averting his gaze from Svetlana’s and focusing on the analog clock on the wall. “No. I don’t want your help, nor do I need it. Let’s get back to it. Nikolai and Fedya, Hellas and Bulgaria, foreign policy and everything in between.”

“As far as I know, Nikolai limited his interactions to Kostova and the parliament.”

Laszlo scoffed and Svetlana slammed her hands down on the table. “We’re siblings, Mr. Mincef. Slavic brothers, and us two in particular share a very unique bond. That is why I’m containing myself right now, but you truly must curb that tongue of yours. Now, how about you get some practice in for when the others have you by the throat? Say sorry. Apologize. Apologize in that little voice of yours. The British one.”

Hands trembling and face flushed, Laszlo opened his mouth in protest and then clamped it shut. He turned to Svetlana, his voice a mumble. “I’m sorry...”

She cupped her hand around her ear, eyebrows raised. “Mm? Can’t hear you.”

Laszlo coughed, raising his voice and keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “I’m sorry for being rude.”

“There you go. Practice is key. Now, do you want the truth?”

Silent and still ruby with embarrassment, he nodded.

“Fedya got too buddy-buddy with Nick, as he does with all of his neighbors, myself included, and then Nick would get all huffy about it. It affected the relationship between the countries, et cetera.” Rubbing her temples, Svetlana huffed and continued. “You should know all about this, I shouldn’t have to tell you. And, Laszlo, if you’re involving yourself in conspiracies and mind games, then I’m politely asking you to leave me out of it.” Eyes narrowed, she put her hand on the table and leaned forward. “I trust you. I see you are a smart young man with a long political career ahead of you. But you shouldn’t involve yourself in the soap operas of our region and just stick to what you know. Sit back, watch the flames, don’t touch them. You don’t need to involve yourself voluntarily in these things, because it will only cause you trouble in the end.”

Laszlo looked up at her, wide-eyed with curiosity. “You know more than what you’re letting on,”

“That could very well be true, but a true magician never reveals her secrets. Enjoy the coffee, _dragi_.”

And with that, Svetlana was gone, cursing Laszlo to the realm of having more questions than he started with. When he turned back, one arm slung over his seat, she had already disappeared from view.

The coffee machine beeped, the pot nearly filled to the top. At least I can still rely on somebody, Laszlo thought.

***

“I may have forgotten how you take your coffee.”  
  
“That’s quite alright, I’ll do it myself.”  
  
Vasiliki rose to her feet, bent over the coffee pot as Fedya looked on. “I think my mediating is going quite well,” he commented, looking rather self-assured as he spoke. She couldn’t stand that altruistic political smile of his.  
  
“Your mediating? Well, do tell me about what you’ve been up to with that.”

“Laszlo… is such an interesting being.”

Sensing that Fedya was about to slip into one of his winded monologues, Vasiliki took a seat and waited for him to continue. Without missing a single beat, he continued, gleeful as ever. “An enigma on the outside, but he’s easy to figure out, like everyone else here. Being a cynic won’t save him.”

“Psychoanalyzation doesn’t necessarily equate to mediation, though, does it?” She said, eyebrows piqued in interest.

Fedya chuckled. “Well, when two countries have barely touched relations for a few years, it may be a good way of reopening them. This is good for him, anyways.” Vasiliki was silent, but Fedya explained himself nonetheless. “Good for him, because you see that he’s been isolating himself, no? Keeping to the same five people won’t do anything but hurt his foreign policy. You must see why I’m concerned.”

“This isn’t really out of concern, though, is it?”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.” He bobbed forward in his seat, refusing to break his stare. “You must have your reservations about my initiative.”

“Your initiative…”

“Yes, my initiative. Kolya must have told you about a few of my failed initiatives.”

She flashed a tight smile at him, to which he responded, plainly, “Then I assume that’s a no?”

“No, he never had the chance to.”

“Well, you see, I like to take my chances on bettering foreign policy. It’s mostly my job to do that. You know, meeting with other heads of state, all that. So, for a while, since my presidency has begun, I’ve been developing an initiative. It doesn’t really have a name, I haven’t given it much thought. But, anyhow, the whole idea of the initiative is for me to go out and singlehandedly strike up foreign policy in states my country may have a wobbly relationship with. In these times, who needs formality, huh? I prefer going and getting on my own.”

“I don’t understand. What is this?”

“It’s nothing more than learning to understand other leaders a bit better through active interaction and talk sessions.” Fedya waved one of his hands as he began to dig through the drawers of his desk. 

Startled, Vasiliki shook her head. “And Nikolai knew about this?”

“Kolya knew very well about all of it. I thought you’d known about it this whole time! You must have assumed I was crazy, ha! I’m not crazy. Y’see—” Fedya turned to her, holding out a flash drive between his fingers. “As I like to call it, the Initiative Headquarters.”

Before she could touch it, he whipped his hand back and tossed it back into its drawer, slamming it firmly shut. “And what’s in there, exactly?”

“Notes, profiles, other things.”

“You’ve built _profiles_?”

“Precisely. How better than to truly understand my familiars and companions through all means necessary?”

Vasiliki scoffed, a bit in shock from the sudden news. It had always been easy to distrust Fedya, but now…? “So, how many people are on there, exactly?”

“Everyone in Europe. Yourself included. Well, not everyone, just the presidents, prime ministers, foreign ministers, the like. But don’t worry, it’s nothing too incriminating. In fact, you can consider yourself an honorary member of the Initiative.” Creeping into his voice was that same self-assured tone Vasiliki so despised, and she made a half-hearted attempt to hold down her annoyance.

“For what purpose? I’m baffled right now, Fedya, I must say. I hadn’t the faintest clue about any of this. I always thought your fascination with foreign policy was admirable, but not—”

“Not to this degree, hm? Yes, I hear that a lot. Well, you see, Vasiliki, we are two people who are bonded in our own special way. Common sayings say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I do feel that way about you. But it does go deeper than that, no? I had a special relationship with Kolya, too. You see, we have been brothers since before we were born. The brotherhood of our nations binds us invisibly, but it will always be there. And maybe you feel it too, with not just me, but with your other brothers. I feel that connection with my other Balkan brothers. Noble Greeks are no exception to my brotherhood. But, Vasiliki, I feel a special connection with you, you know. And that’s why I trust you with half of the Initiative. I know you can handle it. I trusted Kolya, and I can trust you.”

“Thank you for your trust. I appreciate all of… this. Whatever this even is. Your database, of sorts?” Bobbing the cup in her hand, she watched as Fedya sauntered to the table. 

“That’s a good word for it. Database,” he repeated, deep in thought. “Now, on the original topic of this conversation… Laszlo.” Fedya brightened as he fumbled with his sleeve. “You are closer to the West than I could ever dream of being. An honorary member of Ben Hunter’s very own dream team. I need to ask, Vasiliki, you must have sensed it. With Gustava moving into the Balkans, has Ben made any… plans?” He placed his hand on the table, fingers spread, before closing them into a fist. “If you don’t know, then I understand. For this relationship to work properly, though, I’d appreciate your full honesty.”

It was a sensible question to ask. Gleaning information while forcing her to be open with him. Appropriating how much trust she truly had in him. Vasiliki smiled, quick as ever. “He does have plans to move into the East.” Taking a breath and studying Fedya’s perky gaze, she continued. “More specifically, through my neighbors, with my influence. Bulgaria, Albania, Kosovo, and…”

Fedya snapped his fingers. “Of course. North Macedonia. Thank you, Vasiliki. I’m blessed to have you in my corner.”

“Well, you’re certainly welcome—”

As he rose to his feet, heading for the door, he bent to kiss her on the cheek. “Really. Thank you. Now, it’s nearly eight. We best get ready, no?”

Vasiliki steadied herself and cleared her throat. “Of course.”

She left without another word from Fedya, who was tending to his disarrayed papers and opening a window to clear the smell of smoke. When the door shut behind her, she almost jumped out of her own skin, shooting startled glances at the empty hallway. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Right? Nothing wrong was said. As she tried to recall the labyrinth of hallways, pacing through them alone and unbothered, her stomach started to turn.

***

Something Laszlo wasn’t counting on was a lunch invitation. He usually spent that hour putting eating as his last priority, instead catching up on some of Mladenov’s busywork or chatting with Komnena and Florijan. But when he arrived at his seat on the second morning, always recognizable with a shiny new nameplate to match the shiny new country name change, he found a note with a signature he knew much too well.

Feeling the absence of Fedya’s eyes, he instead turned his attention to the culprit, sitting proudly at his head seat and keeping his focus on everyone but Laszlo.

A lunch with Ben Hunter.

How pleasant. He couldn’t wait to indulge himself on fine loose tea and jolly iced crumpets with the Prime Minister himself, Europe’s favorite premier.

However, Laszlo was certain Fedya had noticed. When Fedya sat down, after circling past the rest of the table’s seats, occupied and vacant alike, he sat down with a self-assured smile that Laszlo had never seen. And in that moment, Fedya’s eyes met his, and Fedya winked.


	4. Chapter 4

Laszlo couldn’t help but dread the hand on the clock as it clicked on by. Usually, when the clock struck 11, he was pleased to have a lengthy recess before reconvening. But now…

Once again, he’d been out of  _ it _ the entire time. That was an afterthought, though, because he hadn’t been asked to speak anyways. Ben discussed economics and policy, expressed his chagrin at Gustava’s absence, and occasionally called up a speaker from the crowd. His eyes never fell upon Laszlo, and while the lack of attention from Europe’s favorite premier would normally soothe him, his anxiety only grew. 

As all the discussion of policy and economy entered one ear and out the other, Laszlo neglected to check the time, because what snapped him out of his brain fog was a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” Komnena asked. “Startling lack of subtle facial mannerisms today.”

Laszlo rubbed his forehead, peeking over her shoulder as he searched for a particular Englishman. “I’m okay. Yeah, I’ve just been out of it this whole week. Mercury retrograde, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” She took a seat in Oliver’s empty chair and leaned over on one hand. Seeing as Laszlo’s general unease had not been relieved by her presence, she began, “Is there anything I—“

“Ben Hunter invited me to lunch,” he blurted, holding out the handwritten sticky note. 

Widening her eyes and letting out a deep, uncertain breath, Komnena leaned back. “Well, if he starts chasing you with a knife, let me know and I’ll come to the rescue.”

“What do I say? Is he mad at me? He must be mad with me. Oh, he’ll be violating the peace treaties in a few days and it’ll be  _ carnage _ . Just because I disrespected him once!” With his face buried in his hands, Laszlo groaned. “I don’t usually feel nervous around people like him, yet here I am.”

She shrugged and got to her feet, beckoning him to the side. “Well, you know, just be you. The real you. That’ll convince him you’re a delightful ray of sunshine.”

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Ommie, I can’t fuck it up. Do you think he’s asking just anybody to lunch?” 

“What this is is an advertisement session for you to give up that sweet docile neutrality of yours and to pick a goddamn side. He needs more spoons in his cabinet. A bigger deck of cards. More wiggle room. Svetlana and I are out of the picture, Agim has been flip-flopping since his election, and he’s already got Jelka and Vasiliki. He knows we all like Gustava better, so he’s trying to get his claws in before all of us make our choices.”

Laszlo scoffed, then pouted, and slapped his forehead with a groan. “I’m going to die here.”

“No, you won’t. Now, you should look over your shoulder, and I should wish you good luck.” She whipped out her phone and hid it behind her back before bowing at the waist. “Mr. Hunter.”

“President Gecaj. Quite a fantastic job on the presentation alongside Mr. Vallenici today. Keep it up.” Ben was all smiles as he beamed down at Laszlo and went to shake Komnena’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us?” he asked, tightening his tie and offering another overly polite smile.

“Of course,” she replied, smiling overly politely in return. Holding her phone behind her back as she turned to leave, Laszlo stifled a grin as he caught the notepad-app message.  _ Call me! _

“Now,” Ben declared, focusing his attention on Laszlo as the door swung shut behind her. “Shall we attend to our business?”

Laszlo nodded, wearing a grim, wordless expression.

Perhaps expecting a more enthusiastic reply, Ben spun around, fiddling with his sleeve. “Oh, don’t be so glum, Mr. Mincefski. I don’t bite,” he coldly reassured. Without much success in his response, Ben relented, holding up a hand. “I see you’re a tad uneasy. Not a problem. I also get nervous sometimes. How about we just stay here and have a little chat? Nothing fancy. See, I won’t even force you to go to some conference room. Casual. Just like you like it.”

“So… here, then?”

“Precisely. Here.” Ben beckoned him over to the front of the table, where the Prime Minister’s seat was. Laszlo pointedly took Gustava’s usual seat, waiting for a reaction that wasn’t elicited. Instead, Ben sighed, folding his hands and leaning forward. “I would like to apologize.”

That relaxed Laszlo. He took a deep breath, rubbed his neck, then snapped right back to his usual self. “So you feel sorry for yourself now? You ought to, after all the trouble you’ve caused in the Balkans. And you can’t even spare me the kindness of pronouncing the name of my capital correctly. Tell me, how does Jelka feel when you say _ Zaaaaa-grab _ ? It’s  _ Zagreb _ .”

“There is no need to get  _ snide,  _ Mr. Mincefski-”

“Oh, there’s plenty of need to get snide,” Laszlo replied, leaning back with his hands folded and eyes narrowed. “And that’s President Mincefski to you.”

“Of course.” The Prime Minister smiled, the knuckles on his hands going white.

  
“I assume you don’t like being reprimanded by me. I mean, nobody does, really. Why are you really here? I didn’t take you for a masochist.”

“I was  _ apologizing _ ,” Ben repeated. “It appears you do not want my apology, however.” Ben stood, placing a hand on the desk and pushing up his glasses. “I’m being rather kind to you, considering you’re a novice and don’t have much stake in Europe’s  _ realpolitik _ . That’s fine. I am usually not this polite to people such as yourself.”

“What, progressives?”

“No-” Ben slammed a hand on his forehead, shrinking back into his seat. “You truly have no filter, do you? That’s fine. I can respect that. But please be advised that when you are settled in and much more familiar with the workings of this land I won’t be so polite.”

“Well, I know why you’re being polite  _ now _ ,” Laszlo muttered, staring into Gustava’s nameplate and making out the silhouette of his face. “Bit dirty, this one,” he commented, loosening his tie with a smirk.

In response, Ben unbuttoned his blazer, tossed it on his chair, and rolled up his sleeves. “Yes. It appears you do.”

“Now, what’s your pitch for me? I see you’re rather serious about all this. Fine, I’ll play,” Laszlo replied, grinning and mockingly rolling up his sleeves. 

Ben coughed, fixing his tie as he moved his chair to face Laszlo. “You’re an educated man, I see that. You were an economist, correct?”

“A Keynesian macroeconomist, precisely. Hopped around a few different NGO jobs, ended up in civil service at the ripe age of 25. Sure you’d appreciate the Keynesian part, no?”

“He’s a British hero,” the Prime Minister commented, nodding and tilting his head. “Tell me, President. I’ve read most of your neighbors for filth, but you evade me. You’re so sure of yourself, yet you haven’t passed a single piece of legislation. What’s the name of your PM? Mladenov?” Ben recalled, once again butchering the name to which Laszlo smirked. “He seems to be doing the legwork for you. You’re a man of mostly empty promises. I could see the benefits of having an economist as a president in Macedonia, but nothing has been accomplished. I feel quite let down with you.”

“Since when have I answered to you?” Laszlo scoffed. “My domestic affairs and my leadership methods are none of your business.” 

“Actually, Laszlo,” Ben said, making a point of meeting Laszlo’s unsure gaze. “It’s plenty of my business. I am the de facto leader of this continent. Gustava can say she’s the one doing all the work, but we know the truth. I’m responsible for all of this. I keep track of everyone in Europe, because it’s my responsibility to prevent more conflict from occurring. I worry for you, and your other neighbors in the East, very deeply. You have had such a turbulent history, and are still plagued with such… worrisome affairs. So, I’d say that this is plenty of my business. Is there something wrong?”   
  


Laszlo had suddenly turned green again, his gaze focused on his hands.  _ Mladenov _ . Countries are bodies, bodies that have functioning organs and limbs that must work in tandem to operate. But what if the heart chooses not to follow the brain? What happens when the organ system fails, and an imbalance cripples the body’s function? Laszlo knows it all too well. A lack of legislation, constant humiliation, and an ineffective leadership. A cabinet is supposed to be there to assist the President in his duties. Well, the cabinet has made a point to not help whatsoever!

“Laszlo, you may be surprised to hear this, but I have been in your position before,” Ben said, lowering his voice and leaning on the edge of his seat. “Before I was Prime Minister, I was an MP. Brighton. I know you must have an understanding of recent history, and know of my party, but…” he trailed off, before smiling. “I was also often underestimated or silenced, just like you.”

“Yes, but I haven’t  _ slaughtered _ anyone, have I? July 8th, never forget!” Laszlo dramatically clamped his hand over his heart, pouting as he recalled the date. “The day  _ you _ slaughtered the royalty and the nobility and nobody ever prosecuted you for it. Is that the precedent you’d like to set in Europe, Ben? It’s certainly not the one I want. I’d rather go for the Prime Minister who hasn’t actually killed anyone-” 

“Gustava Nielsen is  _ not _ innocent, either. You’re mistaken, President. Yes, I’ve recognized what I have done. I live with it every day. Do you think I sleep at night knowing what I’ve done? I don’t. Really, I don’t. I’ve spent every day since then repenting for what I’ve done as best as I can. I am merely trying to say--” Ben went silent, touching his forehead as Laszlo looked on, silent. “I understand your position. I see what is happening to you, and I know that if you were given the understanding and appreciation you deserve, you’d be able to enact real change in your neighborhood. I want that for you.”

Seeing Laszlo’s expressionless response, Ben turned. “You can reject my help, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you.”   
  
“What offer are you extending, exactly?” Laszlo said, shaking his disobedient cabinet and Ben’s dead little royal family from his mind. 

Ben turned, eyebrows raised as if he was surprised that Laszlo had considered his offer for even a second. “You-- you can join the European Union. No red tape, no formalities, simply entry with travel and economic integration all included. On my behalf,” he said, fiddling with his watch before lifting his head up to meet Laszlo’s gaze. “And I’ll say you were the only one who organized the deal. Just you. No legislative branch or cabinet involvement whatsoever. Just  _ you _ .”

Well, well, well. Laszlo weighed his options for a moment, turning aside with his hand on his mouth. It was a solid offer: he receives a coveted entry into Europe’s largest gated community, all the popularity that comes with the decision, and he’ll be lifted into power alongside Ben Hunter and the rest of the other leaders. Plus, he’ll be protected from the dangers of his position, a position that had most likely caused his predecessor’s untimely assassination. It’s a deal without much necessary thought. 

That’s the point. That’s always the point.

“What’s the catch?” Laszlo asked, warily turning back to Ben.

“There is none! No catches. All you need to do is accept. Sign a few papers, tell a few white lies, and we’ll all be done. You’ll never have to worry about being harmed by your neighbors or by your own cabinet. You’ll be protected with me. Gustava can’t give you that, and neutrality certainly can’t.”

Vasiliki had been a strong supporter of Ben’s union since long before her presidency. She was responsible for Greece’s entry under Nikolai. Fedya, on the other hand, was quick to attempt an escape from the union following his election, before being similarly stopped by his legislative branch. Laszlo’s only real threats, and he’d be alongside them making decisions. He thought about Fedya’s words, his thinly veiled threats, and about Vasiliki’s inconspicuous warning. Drumming his fingers on the side of his chair, he glanced at the floor. “I believe I may need to think about it a bit more,” Laszlo said.

“That’s perfectly fine. This is an open offer. You can come to me whenever you’d like, okay?” Ben placed his hand on Laszlo’s shoulder, beaming. “Please, I’d prefer if you’d take your time.”   
  
Laszlo pulled back, forcing back a smile. “For sure.”

“Thank you for hearing me out, Laszlo. I appreciate it. Now, you best get to lunch.”

“Yes, of course…” 

Ben stood up, grabbing his blazer and wordlessly shutting the door behind him, leaving Laszlo alone. Laszlo fumbled for his phone, pulling up his messages and opening Komnena’s, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Feeling a sudden sickness on his tongue, he shut his phone, and rested his head on the desk, closing his eyes and falling into a brief sleep.

***   
  
“I’m worried for him, I’ll be honest. Have you  _ seen  _ how much Fedya has been on him on the past few days?!”

  
The Miniature Balkan Triumvirate, as Svetlana had recently titled it, had met in an unusual spot. In the garden courtyard of the complex, there were no cameras or windows, merely a few benches cornering a round table. Komnena worriedly tapped on her phone, waiting for a message from the topic of the conversation, while Svetlana sat cross-legged on one of the benches and Florijan kneeled over some of the flowers, poking at them absentmindedly.

“Ben must do some better watering on these,” he commented. “And weeding.”

Svetlana leaned back on the bench, tilting her head. “... Right. Yeah, I can sense something’s gotten into him.”

“I’m sure it must have been that conversation he had with Fedya. Something’s off,” Komnena leaned forward, placing her phone facedown on the table. Florijan stood up, hands full of weeds that he discarded in one of the bins before joining the ladies at the benches. “And now Ben’s on him,” she continued, pressing a hand into her forehead. 

  
“And Vasiliki. Don’t forget Miss Vasiliki,” Florijan interjected, swinging his legs. “He mentioned her too, did he not?”   
  
“Sure did!” Svetlana said. “Interrogating me about contemporary Greek history, like I give a shit.”

“I think… we should leave early.” Komnena commented, resting her head in her hands. “All of us. We’re the only Balkan states here, besides Vasiliki and Fedya, and they’re, well, they’re them. Let’s just leave and sort it out with Laszlo back home.”

“Look, I love the kid, but I’m not willing to let him magically reverse all of the progress I’ve made because Fedya or Ben planted some magic ideas in his head. This isn’t good, you’re right, we  _ should _ leave. Stick it to the man. Florijan?”

Florijan shrugged. “This doesn’t concern me as much, does it? I’m certainly concerned. See, Izet was very calculated with his decisions on alliances, and we never joined any alliances, and I never will. But I don’t know, I don’t want to force anything on him.”   
  
“Okay, fine. That’s fair. Komnena, why don’t you just confront him, ask him to leave, but in like, you know, a friendly way? You’re close friends, right?” Svetlana clapped her hands together, leaning forward and blowing a strand of hair from her face. 

“Yes, yes we are,” she said, picking up her phone again. “I’ll bring it up, but I can’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Alright, alright, that works. And we should probably keep Fedya away from him. That man’s scary.”

“Scary,” Florijan repeated. “Yeah, he’s a weird one.”   
  
“Okay. We’ll see how it goes.”

As Svetlana and Florijan got to their feet, Komnena nearly dropped her phone upon hearing the ringer go off. “Shit, he just got back to me.”

“What did he say?” Svetlana and Florijan crowded next to her as she hurriedly typed in her passcode, holding out the screen.

_ Went fine. _

_ He apologized.  _

Komnena squinted, shooting back,  _ For what? _

The three dots flickered on the screen before revealing Laszlo’s message.  _ For everything.  _


End file.
